


Arms Full

by BlackCatRunning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Beer, Castiel being cute and clueless, Castiel does not help him, Dean falls down, Dean has a bit of a potty mouth, Dean is annoyed by this, Drabble, Gen, Sam's running errands like a dork, Season/Series 05, Short & Sweet, Sneezing, Stairs, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCatRunning/pseuds/BlackCatRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Dean wanted to do was carry some beer upstairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arms Full

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Filling a prompt off one of tarotgal’s memes – 
> 
> Prompt: His nose is so itchy. He needs to scratch it, but he can't (maybe he's got his hands full at the moment or maybe he doesn't want to be seen rubbing his nose). So he doesn't. But the itch is still there and it inevitably builds up into a sneeze he can't possibly restrain.
> 
> Supernatural, Gen; starring Dean and Cas  
> Warnings: swearing, spoilers up to/including season 5

Dean has been in some tight spots in life. Really, really tight. Talking so tight _bondage_ looked loose. Between dying and going to Hell, dying and going to Heaven, fucking dying some other time he probably couldn’t remember, excuse him, he’s lost count, not to mention all the injuries he’s taken over the years just because life enjoys taking a giant steaming shit all over him just because he’s Dean Winchester—…well, he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to tight spots.

All he wanted to do was carry in a couple cases of beer. More than a couple, honestly, but he can still see over the stack so he counts it as reasonable. They’re stocking up Bobby’s house since it’s the Apocalypse, and beer’s as good as any commodity. Sam’s just left to pick up some books from the library in town – he better not wreck his Baby, so help Dean – and Bobby himself is deep in the salvage yard relaxing while he strips cars. Cas, who’s hanging out a hell of a lot more recently since he’s out of juice, is discovering the wonders of Bobby’s record collection in the living room.

There’s a distinct sound of something smashing on hardwood, and Dean closes his eyes very slowly. He’s just put a foot on Bobby’s stairs, a little wobbly from the weight in his arms.

“Cas?” Dean calls. His voice reverberates painfully in the tight stairwell.

There’s a pause, then a dutiful, “Yes, Dean?”

“Break another one and Bobby’ll wear your teeth on a necklace.”

“…I understand.”

Good enough. As Dean starts clamoring up the stairs, wishing he asked Cas to give him a hand with all the pounds of beer he’s hefting, the old vinyl finally crackles into life on the player and fills the entire first floor with early Rock. Whatever. At least the music isn’t awful—…

Shit. Dean doesn’t know what it is – maybe the beer’s been on the shelf too long in the store and is a little dusty, or maybe Cas played with the air freshener again while everyone was out, he doesn’t know – but all of a sudden there’s an itch in his nose. Without thinking, Dean leans slightly to the side to scrub it against his shoulder (because he’s holding all this beer, dammit), but the movement rocks him off balance and he has to clench his abs to keep himself from tipping backward.

Okay, well… Dean looks around at his feet, but there’s no decent way to bend down and sit the heavy, unsteady mound of beverage in his arms on the stairs without either falling or dropping it all in the process. Maybe he should have went for the cans instead of the glass bottles.

The tickle lurches an inch up his nose, trailing fuzzy tails as it goes, and Dean’s chest catches a breath without his permission. Yep, it’s got to be the air fresheners. Nothing gets him like ‘Sea Breeze Dew,’ or whatever new-age shit Sammy brings home to try and drown out the smell of three men and a fading angel all sharing a bathroom. Not that Cas actually goes. Why is he thinking about this. Nevermind.

Itch. Sneeze brewing. No arms. Stairs.

“Cas?” Dean calls again, voice bouncing off the walls. And somehow, the vibrations of the tight space twinge his nose a little more, and his eyes flutter. He tries to steady his footing, lips parted as he sucks in another breath. Dammit, hold it back.

“Cas!” The idiot can’t hear him over the music. Fantastic. The second yell was louder, the reverberation more intense, and Dean nearly bites his tongue to dam back the tide of the sneeze. It’s fully developed now, pleading for him to give, but Dean’s not having it. Not with all this beer in his arms and only ten inches of step to stand on.

_“Castiel!”_ Using the angel’s proper name gets Dean nothing but more music and a bad taste in his mouth. The name reminds him too much of the dick Cas used to be before joining Team Free Will. It also gets him an echo punch to the face, and his nose tingles with barely contained fury. He can feel it getting runny, and he sniffles just a little to hold it back, trying to climb a few stairs while his eyes are still open.

No, no, fuck, no. Can’t do this-… not on the stairs. C’mon, man. Keep it together-

Don’t your close eyes, don’t—

Castiel hears what sounds like a sneeze, then the clattering of a body and large packaging go careening down the stairs, and he hurriedly lifts the needle off the record player, abandoning it in favor of what is now a pile of his charge.

“Dean, did you fall?”

Dean sniffles thickly, flat on his back at the bottom of the stairs with shards of glass and beer surrounding him. Irritably, he sniffles again, and then trains a glare on Castiel that unsettles the angel.

“Well,” he intones, and Cas recognizes it as sarcasm. “Whaddyou think?”


End file.
